Brand Blotters - Page 144/180

Very slowly he crept forward, always with one eye to his retreat. Why did

nobody answer the barking of the dogs? Was he being watched all the time?

But how could he be, since he was completely cloaked in darkness?

So at last he came to the nearest cabin, crept to the window, and looked

in. A man lay on a bed. His hands and feet were securely tied and a second

rope wound round so as to bind him to the bunk.

Flatray tapped softly on a pane. Instantly the head of the bound man

slewed round.

"Friend?"

The prisoner asked it ever so gently, but the sheriff heard.

"Yes."

"The top part of the window is open. You can crawl over, I reckon."

Jack climbed on the sill and from it through the window. Almost before he

reached the floor his knife was out and he was slashing at the ropes.

"Better put the light out, pardner," suggested the man he was freeing,

and the officer noticed that there was no tremor in the cool, steady

voice.

"That's right. We'd make a fine mark through the window."

And the light went out.

"I'm Bucky O'Connor. Who are you?"

"Jack Flatray."

They spoke together in whispers. Though both were keyed to the highest

pitch of excitement they were as steady as eight-day clocks. O'Connor

stretched his limbs, flexing them this way and that, so that he might have

perfect control of them. He worked especially over the forearm and fingers

of his right arm.

Flatray handed him a revolver.

"Whenever you're ready, Lieutenant."

"All right. It's the cabin next to this."

They climbed out of the window noiselessly and crept to the next hut. The

door was locked, the window closed.

"We've got to smash the window. Nothing else for it," Flatray whispered.

"Looks like it. That means we'll have to shoot our way out."

With the butt of his rifle the sheriff shattered the woodwork of the

window, driving the whole frame into the room.

"What is it?" a frightened voice demanded.

"Friends, Mr. West. Just a minute."

It took them scarce longer than that to free him and to get him into the

open. A Mexican woman came screaming out of an adjoining cabin.

The young men caught each an arm of the capitalist and hurried him

forward.

"Hell'll be popping in a minute," Flatray explained.

But they reached the shelter of the underbrush without a shot having been

fired. Nor had a single man appeared to dispute their escape.